


Snowdrift

by Crispyteabiscuits



Series: Breddy Fanfic - The Four Seasons [1]
Category: Breddy, Twosetviolin
Genre: Brett Yang - Freeform, Death, Eddy Chen - Freeform, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Happy birthday Eddy, Hidden Feelings, I'm sorry for the death, Inspired by Deathless - Catherynne M. Valente, Inspired by snow, Inspired by song, Late post cuz massive assignment due darnit, M/M, Mostly Platonic, Mostly friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crispyteabiscuits/pseuds/Crispyteabiscuits
Summary: The snow fell hard that year.Cold sheets of snow drifted across Adelaide Street, encased in the midnight of winter. Flakes feathered from the sky, and Brett felt his hand move upwards as if it bore its own mind.The whiteness faded into his palm, melting its paleness into Brett’s red palm swelling and then whitening. It came and died and left no more spectacle than a droplet.
Relationships: Breddy - Relationship, Brett Yang & Eddy Chen, Brett Yang/Eddy Chen
Series: Breddy Fanfic - The Four Seasons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675375
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Snowdrift

**Author's Note:**

> Knowing a lot of people in this fandom understand Chinese, I wanted to post some lyrics from the song that inspired my writing.
> 
> Name of Song: 雪落下的聲音
> 
> 輕輕落在我掌心  
> 靜靜在掌中結冰  
> 相逢是前世注定  
> 痛并把快樂嘗盡  
> 明明話那麼寒心  
> 假裝那隻是叮嚀  
> 淚盡也不能相信  
> 此生如紙般薄命  
> 我慢慢地聽雪落下的聲音  
> 閉著眼睛幻想它不會停  
> 你沒辦法靠近決不是太薄情  
> 只是貪戀窗外的好風景  
> 我慢慢地品雪落下的聲音  
> 彷彿是你貼著我叫卿卿  
> 睜開了眼睛漫天的雪無情  
> 誰來賠這一生好光景
> 
> Hopefully, someone reads this lol!

**Started writing: 29/2 6:04 pm**

_ The snow fell hard that year. _

Brett Yang sat against his window sill, drawn up like restless slits of eyes, narrowing in sleep. 

His blood had run quiet, his arms felt like needles stinging, it pricked through his veins, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the unnervingly quiet streets. 

Cold sheets of snow drifted across Adelaide Street, encased in the midnight of winter. Flakes feathered from the sky, and Brett felt his hand move upwards as if it bore its own mind. 

The whiteness faded into his palm, melting its paleness into Brett’s red palm swelling and then whitening. It came and died and left no more spectacle than a droplet. 

There were so many different things Brett could come upon in his head, that he could do to evade the coldness. Tickling the strings of his violin, a mug of steaming chocolate, or perhaps heated bubble tea— or a good book even, to read upon a reclined couch, burying himself in words he wasn’t accustomed to. 

Finding comfort in strangers was so odd it was pleasantly warming to him, Brett thought. 

Brett thought he’d looked at the snow no more than a moment longer when the sun peaked at the horizon. Its golden butter melted itself onto the snow, it was like a sea of expensive silk. Would fools dive into its depths? 

Then perhaps Brett was a fool if he had leapt from his spot in enlightenment, shaking himself into his coat. He even took the time to comb through his tangled locks, organising them like pages of orchestral music. 

Today, they would look neat for him, and the strangers scooping snow on the streets. Then it would be ruined for him only when they fight with the stuff. 

The air bit into him like a nasty grin, as Brett stepped through the threshold, away was the warmth that draped over him. The coldness came like a splash of water, rejuvenating the drunken exhaustion he had.

Brett began thinking of the ways his violin would be sodden in the billowing winter, the wind and the humidity. Then eventually his thoughts wandered darker as he held another snowflake in his palm like one would hold a lover. 

“What would happen, if I had begged you to stay?” Brett Yang whispered, his voice holding thousands of winters at a thin window. If it was even a puddle, only a fragment of soul waning at his call. 

He caught another. And it left just as quickly as the others had. 

He clasped his palms like a child attempting to swipe a butterfly. 

_ Patience.  _ His heart growled angrily, and he stomped that thought away, that voice. That haunting ghost like an undying flake screamed and faded. 

Then with determination like a flame, he was no longer cold, and no longer shy of the abundance of audiences. 

Their wary glances did not waver him, he cared less if they thought him mad, or if they willed him to pause his disturbance. 

Brett caught a bead in his blue palms. His tinted lips were like rose teas, and they smiled so perfectly and were so very frozen. 

“I-I got-t yo-ou,” he teeth clattered, but he spoke through them with affluence. His eyes were steady, and his teeth were shaking with fury. 

A puff of warm air.




  
  


“Brett?”

“Brett? I’m home!” 

“ _ Brett… _ ”




  
  


Eddy Chen was headed back to the town he adored like a dark-haired boy catching snowflakes. His hands were swaying with the promise of warm bubble tea. The sloshing of liquid in his palms and the heels of his dress boots rang sharp against the frozen pavement. 

The warmth puffs breathed to life the crisp morning streets of Brisbane. Soon, the neighbouring children began to laugh and tumble in the thick snow registered after a long night of travel.

Stride upon stride, he arrived at Adelaide Street, a shining grin like polished metal. 

“Five long years, I’m home!” Sighing happily, Eddy grinned as he walked down the lane and drew memories of the summer sun and lapping ice creams into his embrace. 

Eddy was proud how practised his laughter was, as infectious as he willed he could go, as tantalising as a blossoming honey flower. It could feed so many bees and lighten so many souls. 

Eddy was more ready than anything for a new chapter in his life. To flip another page and play another phrase. He clutched his violin case closer to himself, as the cold air penetrated through his thin coat. 

Chiding at himself silently, he reprimanded himself for forgetting such quintessential needs of a well-cut man. 

“ _ Tsk tsk _ , Eddy Chen, aren’t you a mess,” he muttered to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets as another bout of harsh wind whipped at his back. 

Standing tall at the dark oak door of 3000 Adelaide Street, for the street was very lengthy indeed, Eddy pounded the door chirpily as a lively woodpecker.

“Anyone home?” He called loudly. 

Eddy bit his lips anxiously, the name hung limp at the tip of his tongue. Eddy wanted to see his expression when he called him for the first time in years. Each syllable would be perfectly seasoned and mulled over, then they would share pints of beer until they laid unconscious from intoxication. What cheery celebration, what stories they would share!

Desperately, he searched the stale, still air that hung like musk in the empty room. 

It was hauntingly cold, so much so as Eddy reached and rubbed his shoulders, trying to spark a bit of warmth in his limbs. He tried to rationalise that the inhabitant was simply tired of the warm air that diluted the atmosphere, and pegged for a spice of chill. 

Aware of the way he could hear every squeak of the floorboard as he stalked up the stairs, like a forsaken mountaineer. In his mind, Eddy hiked through all the lonely nights he had unconsciously sought for his companion, the words he wanted to say stuck at the back of his throat every time they chatted though interconnected virtual videos. It was never enough.

Eddy remembered that time when midnight came too bitterly swift. His friend had laughed, eyes swirling in the dark,  _ “Anything you want to say, Eddy? I gotta go to sleep soon!”  _

_ “Ah… Well, only to wish you the sweetest of dreams.”  _

_ “Ha! Hopefully, Eddy. You too!” There had been something lacklustre in his friend’s eyes, but Eddy had assumed he was only just drowsy.  _

_ The webcam blinked once before it laid dead.  _

_ Eddy was faced with his own reflection once more, still mourning over the words amiss.  _

_ I miss you.  _

Once again his feet sturdy against the wood, still creaking and groaning every time his boots clicked against it.

Perhaps, his friend was asleep. Eddy would surprise him, he would scare the life out of him! 

He flung open the door, expecting to meet a slumbering figure. 

“Brett?”

Eddy’s hand did not completely leave the door handle.

  
  


—

  
  


Once a year, there would be a night, where the moon dipped low and the star hung aglow in the midnight 

The land slumbered still beneath the moonless sky, but a man at his windowsill, before a—

So very tall and slim window. 

His sad and dead eyes would run with the shimmers of light, and he would feed off the slight rasps of the wind. 

Every night he would sit there, only for a few minutes. No one would suggest anything but that he was breathing in the fresh night air. 

One night, each year, where the moon vanished into its garnish, he would scour the streets, and sometimes he’d stare for hours, but he would never leave his place until the sun drew its first light. 

  
  


—

  
  


“ _ Brett…”  _

Eddy collapsed into a heap of bones and flesh, his head hanging low. 

“ _ I’ve come home _ .” 

Helpless, Eddy clasped his clammy swelling hands against the blue hands of his friend. It felt like foam against metal. 

Oh, it was so very cold. 

“ _ I’m home _ .”

Encircling his friend, Eddy let his body warmth press onto his friend’s windswept soul. He cradled him close like a newborn, and in his mind, he could already hear the endearing light of craving. 

_ The snow fell hard that year.  _

  
  


—

  
  
  


**Finished: 12:09 am 4th of March (not in Brisbane time of course)**

**Author's Note:**

> My gratitude extends towards the birthday boi and Bretty Bang, the two legendary heroes that ignited my passion for the piano again. I've been playing it again for a year now, having learnt it for 8 years previously before my hiatus for three years. 
> 
> Similar to most Asians, I was forced into piano at the young age of 3! My mother wanted me to get a grasp of melodic sense and intuition. I absolutely hated the lessons but I loved music, I had always known that. Definitely regret not practising when I was younger. Don't know how I managed to pass my ABRSM Grade 5 exam, didn't really practise lmao.
> 
> Anywaysss, I wanted to share this experience hoping that it would inspire you to pick up a long-forgotten instrument up again. Whether you think you're talented or not should not affect your decision and passion for music. If you love it, do it now, you will definitely not regret it. Even when you're crying in a corner over a difficult piece, nothing beats the sense of accomplishment and the beautiful music you find yourself playing when you eventually learn the pieces. 
> 
> Keep practising!
> 
> \- Just another Ling Ling Wannabe


End file.
